


London Noir: The Spider and the Fox

by MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, London, Post-Canon, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-17 12:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16974687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: They were fresh, cool pools of water that you didn’t dare muddy with anything but the truth. Anything less and you had the sense you’d be consumed by that water. Drowned for your deception. And you would know you deserved it.





	London Noir: The Spider and the Fox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> Prompt: 

“So, you finally went and did it, didn’t you?”

She never minced words. Not like some miser hoarding their gold, more like a spider casting their web one strand at a time. The pattern revealing itself when she was good and ready to show it to you. And she was the kind of dame that always made it worth the wait. But if you stumbled in before she was done, she could devour you. 

She was never cruel -- well, not to Phryne anyway. Never to her.

Her hair was like a full moon on a lonely night and her eyes were the ocean, blue or grey depending on her mood. They were the kind of eyes that told you exactly where you stood with her if you knew what you were looking for. And God help her, somehow Phryne had cracked that code years ago.

There they were, two piercing blue eyes searing through the thick night air to Phryne’s own. They were fresh, cool pools of water that you didn’t dare muddy with anything but the truth. Anything less and you had the sense you’d be consumed by that water. Drowned for your deception. And you would know you deserved it.

Her question still lingered in the air, echoing off London's famous fog. Phryne had no reason to hide the answer. Not now. She’d meant it when she’d told him to follow her. And now he’d finally done it. She met her friend’s gaze and answered with a clear and steady voice. 

“I did. He arrives at the end of the week.”

“So, that's that then.”

“Etta, it's a beginning. Not every beginning starts from an ending.”

“Oh really, Phryne? Have you written to your liberal-minded man about me, then?”

The word web was cast, and Phryne imagined the silky threads physically enveloping her arms. Another woman might have squirmed or flinched. Phryne wasn’t that woman. She squared her shoulders and held Etta’s gaze.

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Really? Did you tell him I am an old friend you reconnected with in London? Is that how you described me, Phryne? An old friend?”

Etta was suddenly a breath away from Phryne. She was a tall drink of water, taller than Phryne, but her beloved wingtips kept her grounded while Phryne’s kitten heels added to her petite stature. Etta reached up to stroke a stray hair back behind Phryne’s ear. A simple gesture that never failed to take her breath away.

Long fingers traced Phryne’s ear, lingering over her lobe before slowly trailing down her neck. Phryne felt her heartbeat quicken. The tips of Etta’s fingers sent a wave of vibrations down her neck that continued well past where her fingers stopped. For a moment she was the moth and risked her wings becoming entangled.

They’d been playing this dangerous game for years. Every time they reunited the stakes seemed higher -- and the pull stronger. Two powerful forces drawn unmistakably together, yet always just on the precipice. 

What had kept them apart was as good a question as what drew them together. Phryne was never one for getting caught up too tightly in something she couldn’t get herself out of. Her father and Rene had seen to that.

“An old friend, who I was consulting with on a case. What more should I have said, Etta? Aren’t we friends? Or, is it the nature of our friendship that’s on your mind.”

Etta felt Phryne’s words in her bones and the look Phryne gave her in her blood. She trembled underneath her woolen coat. It had less to do with the damp night air and everything to do with Phryne. 

“You know perfectly well the sort of friendships I enjoy, Phryne.”

There was no longer any space between them. Neither of them could have said whether they were captor or the captured. 

“And you know that if I thought it was just that sort of friendship you were interested in, we’d be sitting in front of a fire right now at my flat. Not out in this nasty weather, pretending to look for clues.”

Phryne knew she’d have been welcomed into Etta’s bed at any time. The thought was thrilling and a little dangerous, two feelings Phryne loved. 

“People change, Phryne. You know that better than most. We’re no longer starry-eyed kids, in love with love. Maybe certain types of friendships are enough.”

It was Phryne’s turn to tremble. Only this time it was more than just Etta’s words and the promise they held. The clouds had briefly parted, and she caught a glimpse of something sparkling in the nearby brush.

Her attention caught elsewhere, she missed Etta’s arms encircling her waist until she wanted to move. Phryne was in the awkward position of being momentarily breathless. Etta’s lips were a heartbeat away, but Phryne didn’t want to risk losing track of the object. Her lips dipped into a frown before she grasped Etta on either side of her face.

“I think it’s here after all, Etta. It’s the barrister’s cuff link, I’m sure of it!”

Etta took one last moment to enjoy the warmth, the smell, and the feel of Phryne in her arms before releasing her.

“Are you positive?”

A foolish question that she only asked to force herself back into her body.

“Of course! You know perfectly well I have the eyes of a fox!” 

In her fur-trimmed coat she looked the part as well. Etta could only shake her head and marvel at their differences. Phryne’s fox spirit to her own spider-like cleverness. 

A spider’s web grows, changes, adapts. The spider doesn’t mourn when the winds of change see fit to cut loose its moorings. The spider crawls to safety in the moment of destruction, but returns, rebuilds, and reimagines a new web. 

Never the same twice. 

Etta was equally tenacious. And Phryne, well Phryne would always be drawn to the intricate details Etta spun, and might even allow herself to linger before she cleverly released herself. 

No, this wasn’t an ending at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I am still playing with the Noir style, which is an interesting challenge when it only involves a scene and not the full story. Who knows, a series of vignettes starring Etta, Phryne, and Jack may be in the works.


End file.
